February 2, 1982.
It had been a cold January. There had been an ice storm on New Years Day, and the temperature had never risen above freezing since then. Boo, who was sixteen at the time, had built an ice rink in the back yard.

We had buried my father that afternoon. It was a Tuesday. My sister had been planning to skate with Boo and Dad that night. We all helped her keep that date. Later we sat around Mom's living room, batting a balloon. (Bryn was only three, we couldn't sit and cry all day, now could we?)

The snow began to fall. And then: a huge crack of thunder and lightning. That rarely happens in a snowstorm. We figured Dad was tinkering with the weather machine. Oops.

I believe there is a "further up and further in".